


Christmas Eve

by unbirthdaydance



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, as fluffy as this ship ever gets anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:39:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbirthdaydance/pseuds/unbirthdaydance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xanxus doesn't do romantic. Then again, neither does Squalo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Eve

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place early in the KHR timeline, with teenaged Squalo and Xanxus. This has been floating around in my drafts for ages; I figured it was time to clean it up and post it! ^^
> 
> This has also been translated by _cream_ into Chinese [here](http://nevermeetyou.lofter.com/post/27f738_d15fca)!

* * *

It was the day before Christmas Eve. The ground was white with snow glittering from shining holiday lights wrapped around the trees. There was a palpable atmosphere of holiday enthusiasm among the inhabitants of the small town, mixed in with the sight of last-minute present-buyers bustling about, their arms full of packages. It was also snowing gently, the evening air crisp and chill, but the streets were nonetheless full of laughing, cheerful throngs of people.

Squalo and Xanxus were on their way back from a mission for the Ninth and, due to the increasing amounts of snow, had been forced to book a room in a local inn for a few nights. Despite his loudly voiced complaints, Squalo hadn’t actually minded that much. Staying here certainly beat hiking through enormous drifts of squishy frozen water.

He and Xanxus had purchased provisions from a local shop and were now heading back to the inn. Squalo trudged along behind his boss, hauling an armful of supplies and muttering imprecations under his breath the whole while about why the hell Xanxus couldn’t carry his own damn bottles of whiskey.

Halfway there, Squalo caught sight of a young couple dancing in the snow. One of them was twirling the other about, both of them clumsy in their thick winter clothes. The girl fell towards her partner, her fingers curling onto the chest of his jacket as his arms slipped around her waist. She grinned up at him, flushed and bright-eyed.

Squalo stopped walking and stared at them, an odd feeling catching hold of him.

“What are you doing?” demanded Xanxus, cross as ever. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah,” Squalo agreed. He couldn’t stop watching, however, as the man bent his head to kiss the girl, a soft, sweet kiss, warm with familiarity. An absurd sort of wistful longing rose within Squalo's chest at the sight.

“Stop fucking standing there,” Xanxus ordered, impatiently folding his arms over his chest.

The couple broke apart, still holding hands. The man then grinned and caught the girl about the waist, lifting her up and spinning her around again. She shrieked happily and clutched his shoulders as her hair whipped about in the wind.

“ _Squalo_ ,” Xanxus all but snarled. Squalo jumped a little.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m _coming_ ,” he snapped with as much annoyance as he could muster and started walking again. Xanxus turned on his heel and began marching grimly through the streets, Squalo following in his footsteps.

A quick glance behind him showed the couple kissing once more, the girl’s arms around the man’s shoulders, his fingers tangled in her hair. Squalo’s steps slowed before he caught sight of Xanxus’ glare out of the corner of his eye and hastily walked faster.

He was being ridiculous, he told himself firmly. What the fuck did he want, anyway, some lugnut of a lover twirling him about in the snow like a pair of foolish children?

_All right, fine_ , Squalo told himself ruthlessly. _Let’s be honest here._ He _did_ want something that couple had, he wanted that- that cheerful, innocent _joy_.

_Well, okay_ , Squalo thought irritably. He wanted to be happy. Didn’t fucking everyone? And maybe it would be nice if...but he quashed _that_ thought as quickly as it had come. So maybe his choice of lifestyle as a mafia assassin left no time for a lover to parade about in the snow with. So fucking what? He still had his sword, didn’t he? He still had Xanxus’ company, didn’t he?

Squalo glanced down at his fake hand. He knew the value of sacrifice better than anything. He _liked_ being a mafia assassin. He _liked_ being with Xanxus, even if he was never entirely sure that Xanxus liked _him_. It didn’t fucking matter if he couldn’t be like that young couple, giggly and loving and sweet. He had other things. Better things.

The strange longing in his chest eased, and his steps grew lighter. Squalo nodded firmly to himself. His moment of weakness was over. Time to stop being so fucking sentimental. He had what mattered in life, and that was enough for him.

 

~~~

The inn had a bar, so while Xanxus occupied himself with vainly re-tying the feathers in his hair, Squalo went down to socialize and collect information. Upon discovering that there was a rival mafia family’s base nearby, he made a note to tell Xanxus about it, which he did upon returning to their room.

“We should do a raid,” Squalo mused that night. “Early Christmas Day, when everyone’s still hungover from being fucking drunk on Christmas Eve. Sound like a plan?”

“No,” said Xanxus.

“Why the hell not?” Squalo wanted to know. “It would be a perfect opportunity! You could kill some trash. These guys wrecked your father’s drug connections at that port last month, remember? You could get some vengeance in, yeah? Yeah?”

“I don’t want to,” Xanxus replied, and went to sleep.

“Asshole,” Squalo muttered. “Fucking useless piece of trash.”

He made a note to persuade Xanxus of his plan later, because a violent Christmas sounded awesome. Then he occupied himself with sharpening his sword, humming merry carols as he did so.

 

~~~

Christmas Eve dawned cold and bright. Squalo sprawled out in the bed (the only open rooms had only one bed each, but the two of them hadn’t minded since they’d gotten used to sleeping in close quarters with each other during missions anyway) and cheerfully planned out a day of lying in bed and doing absolutely fucking nothing.

Then Xanxus kicked him out of the general vicinity.

“What?” Squalo demanded furiously. “The fuck why?”

“Stay away from here for a day,” Xanxus ordered again. “Be back at the bar at eight. And don’t eat dinner.”

“What are you, my mother?” Squalo snarled. “Giving me orders about fucking dinner. What the hell am I supposed to do all day? Sing Christmas carols to random passerby?”

Xanxus scowled at him. Squalo scowled back. Xanxus scowled harder. Squalo closed one eye in an attempt to look vicious.

“I’ll shoot you, scum,” Xanxus warned, a violent edge to his voice, and tossed a shoe at him.

Squalo, not entirely sure he was joking, cursed at him for an additional five minutes until Xanxus threw a sharpened butter knife at him.

Then he exited the inn with all due haste.

 

~~~

At twenty minutes after eight, Squalo arrived back at the inn’s bar, deliberately late and very hungry. Xanxus was nowhere to be seen, so Squalo ordered a beer and allowed himself to be engaged in conversation with an old woman who also apparently knew something about swordsmanship.

Five minutes later, Xanxus appeared and stalked through the crowd of people in a typically Xanxus fashion. Squalo ignored him, still annoyed at having been summarily exiled from his own fucking room for a day.

Then Xanxus arrived at his side and _picked him up_.

In his _arms_.

_Bridal style_.

Squalo screeched, immediately mortified. “What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded loudly, cheeks flushing as everyone in the bar turned around to stare.

Xanxus, being Xanxus, ignored everyone, including Squalo, and turned around. He walked out of the bar and up the stairs carrying a still-protesting Squalo in his arms.

“What the fuck is _wrong_ with you? Let me down!” Squalo yelled, trying to get free and failing.

“Shut up,” ordered Xanxus.

They soon arrived at their room. Xanxus, still apparently not willing to let Squalo down, even in order to _retrieve his room key_ , lifted a foot and aimed a kick at the door.

“What the fuck are you doing?” shrieked Squalo. “Use your fucking key! Do you _want_ to pay for a broken door? Do you _want_ the damn thing to fall off its hinges?”

Xanxus paused at this last, then grudgingly lowered his foot. “Get yours,” he commanded.

“Bastard,” muttered Squalo, fishing his key out of a pocket. “Incompetent fool.” He unlocked the door- somewhat awkwardly, as he was still in Xanxus’ arms.

The door swung open and Xanxus carried him inside. Squalo gaped, wide-eyed and momentarily speechless at the sight within.

Xanxus had somehow found decorations for the entire place- glittering glass sculptures and sweet-scented candles lined the mantel and the windowsills, there were five or six ornate vases of flowers scattered about the place, and there was a good-sized Christmas tree in the corner, bedecked with lights, ornaments and a star on top. There was a small table by the fireplace covered in a white tablecloth with fancy-looking dishes and polished silverware. Some of the dishes had carefully arranged food in them. There was also a bottle of expensive red wine and two crystal wine glasses.

“...what the hell?” managed Squalo once he’d found his voice.

Xanxus deposited him on one of the chairs at the table, then went and sat in the other one, spearing half a steak with a fork and lifting it onto his plate.

“Seriously,” said Squalo firmly. “What the hell is this?”

Xanxus ignored him, choosing to cut into his steak instead. Squalo wondered where, somewhere along the way, Xanxus had lost his fucking marbles.

Then the delicious scent of the steak distracted him, and he eagerly started in on the food. Xanxus was silent throughout the meal, but Squalo wasn’t bothered. Xanxus didn’t talk a lot anyway unless he was cursing at scum, and Squalo was used to the silence.

After they’d finished (and eaten some delicious local crusted custard thing), Xanxus got to his feet.

“Put your coat on,” he ordered.

“Why?” Squalo demanded, crossing his arms. “It’s fucking freezing out there.”

“So?” said Xanxus, retrieving his own coat.

“What do you _mean_ , ‘so’?” Squalo snapped, annoyed. “It’s _nice_ in here. It’s _warm_.”

Xanxus paid him no attention, instead involved with wrapping a scarf carefully about his neck so as not to dislodge the variety of feathers and so forth attached to his hair.

“Oh, _fine_ ,” muttered Squalo, rolling his eyes. He fetched his hat, gloves, scarf and coat, wishing one didn’t have to have an entire extra fucking wardrobe for the winter season.

Once Squalo was ready, tugging his hat down over his head so that only the very ends of his short hair peeked out, Xanxus opened the door and led him outside.

The streets had emptied out; everyone was indoors, celebrating Christmas Eve with their family and friends in the warmth of their homes. Squalo shivered and tightened his gray scarf, wondering if someone had drugged Xanxus’ coffee.

Squalo followed Xanxus into the town’s park, down the empty, winding, snow-covered paths, breath misting the air in front of him. It was very pretty and also very cold. Squalo wondered again what the fuck had happened to Xanxus’ common sense.

After about fifteen minutes of wandering, Xanxus fell back in step with Squalo, shoulder brushing Squalo’s own, and laced his gloved fingers with Squalo’s. Alarmed, Squalo opened his mouth to ask what the hell he thought he was doing.

Xanxus looked up at the sky. “I’ve held the stars in my hands,” he remarked randomly.

Disturbed by this attempt at poetry, Squalo looked up at the sky as well. It was mostly clear out, the stars a glittering silver tapestry against the black velvety softness of space.

“Have you been knocked over the head recently?” Squalo inquired.

Xanxus ignored this. “They burn me sometimes,” he said instead. “The stars.”

“Is this still a metaphor?” Squalo demanded, confused. “Or does the Vongola secretly own rocket ships and miniaturizers?”

Xanxus tilted his head sideways and shot Squalo an annoyed look out of the corner of an eye. Squalo had always liked Xanxus’ eyes, all molten red and compressed fury, like a burning fl... _oh_.

“The Dying Will flame,” Squalo said in realization. “That’s what you’re comparing the stars to. The fuck why?”

“The stars are important,” Xanxus remarked, not answering the question.

“No, they’re not,” Squalo retorted, somewhat incorrectly. “Except the Sun. Because it keeps us alive.”

“The stars are important,” Xanxus repeated slowly, meaningfully. “But they’re not the only important things out there.”  
  
“Oh, yeah?” Squalo said. He rolled his eyes. “What else is out there? Aliens?”

“The _moon_ ,” said Xanxus, a touch of annoyance in his voice. “The moon is also important. It does things with tides.”

Squalo snorted. “Yeah, _obviously_ ,” he said and scuffed at a bit of snow. “Is there a point to this?”

Xanxus stopped walking and glared at him. “Can you shut up for a moment?”

“No,” said Squalo obnoxiously. “Why?”

Xanxus placed his hands on Squalo’s shoulders. “The stars,” he explained through gritted teeth, as if talking to an extremely unintelligent child. “Are like my ambitions to become the Vongola Tenth. And other very important things.”

“Yeah,” said Squalo, still unimpressed. “I kind of got that, thanks.”

“And _you_ ,” said Xanxus, even more slowly and carefully. “Are like the moon.”

“Are you comparing me to a giant ugly hunk of space rock?” Squalo demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Stop being an asshole,” Xanxus said exasperatedly. Before Squalo could reply, Xanxus had lifted a hand and placed a black-gloved finger under Squalo’s chin, tilting his face up to look at him. “The moon’s _pretty_.”

Squalo gaped at him, trying to figure out if this was a compliment or an insult, or simply an accidental byproduct of some other skewed failure of a celestial metaphor. Xanxus, however, interrupted his thought processes by kissing him.

_Kissing_ him.

On the _lips_.

Squalo, shocked, kissed him back, feeling tingly and oddly happy. He decided that he must be hallucinating this entire thing. Even Xanxus on drugs wouldn’t be this... _nice_.

On the other hand, he didn’t think it was possible to hallucinate something so vivid and sweet as the press of Xanxus’ mouth upon his.

“Seriously,” said Squalo, once Xanxus lifted his head a little to break the kiss. “Did someone slip something into your drink?”

“You talk too much,” said Xanxus and kissed him again.

What the hell, Squalo decided, as Xanxus pulled him closer, winding strong arms around him. Time to stop arguing and go along with whatever the fuck was happening. There might never be an opportunity like this again.

 

~~~

Squalo woke the next morning, the bed much warmer and louder than he’d remembered it being the morning before. Then he realized that this was because Xanxus had draped an arm and a leg over him and was snoring at top volume. Squalo panicked for a moment, wondering if someone had killed Xanxus and tossed his corpse over him, then realized that A) a corpse wouldn’t be snoring and B) Xanxus had _kissed_ him last night.

They hadn’t done anything much more than kiss, really, though Squalo was fairly sure he’d developed some interesting bite-marks in the process. Squalo had been too afraid to ask to do anything more- afraid of Xanxus suddenly ending even how far they’d gotten. He began to worry, now, if when Xanxus woke up things would go back to normal. He didn’t _want_ things to go back to normal. He wanted Xanxus to kiss him again.

All right, so he would be relieved when Xanxus stopped doing ridiculous things like putting Christmas trees in their inn room and spouting bad poetry at him and carrying him around in his arms like a fucking princess about to be ravished. But that wasn’t the point. The point-

“Stop panicking,” Xanxus mumbled sleepily. Squalo started- he hadn’t realized Xanxus was awake.

“It’s not panic, it’s Christmas,” said Squalo nonsensically. “You know, when people do presents and shit?”

Xanxus grunted.

“Other people,” Squalo clarified hastily, before Xanxus got the mistaken impression that he’d bought him a present. “Who have lives instead of mafias.”

“I _got_ you a fucking present,” Xanxus muttered, yawning. “Shut up and go to sleep.”

Squalo snorted. “Yeah, right. We don’t _do_ presents, remember?” They never had before, anyway. Squalo suddenly wondered what Xanxus meant by this statement. Maybe he meant last night. Maybe it had all been just a pity-gift-thing after catching Squalo staring at those kids the other day. Except Xanxus didn’t _do_ pity. Maybe-

“You’re over-analyzing things,” Xanxus accused. He buried his face in Squalo’s shoulder.

“No, I’m not!” Squalo said indignantly. “What the fuck did you get me, anyway?”

“Me,” said Xanxus and promptly went back to sleep.

“What the fuck does that even _mean_?” yelled Squalo. Xanxus didn’t answer, only nuzzling at the crook of his neck, which made Squalo wonder if he was even actually asleep or just being a jerk and ignoring him again.

Still.

With Xanxus, Squalo had learned, you took what you could get, and had to be satisfied with whatever the hell that was. And if Xanxus said that he had given himself to Squalo as a Christmas present...well.

Squalo couldn’t ask for anything more than that, could he?

He grinned brightly, shyly, then buried his face in Xanxus’ hair, and went back to sleep.


End file.
